The Beginning is Friendship
by cwkitkat98
Summary: A rambling story I decided to write down. It's about a pairing that doesn't get enough love on here. Rated M for mature content, etc. etc. Warning: slashfic, and angsty romance, because evidently that's the only kind I can write. Read, review, enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I, of course, own none of these characters.**

**Rated M for language and mature situations. It is a slashfic, so read at your own risk.**

**This particular story features a pairing that I feel doesn't get enough attention. With that said, it is challenging to write, and I will continue this story if you guys want me to. But you have to tell me! Read and review, and consider yourself warned. I am hopeless when it comes to writing romance.**

**Chapter 1**

McCoy groaned and flexed his hands, trying to keep the blood flowing to his ever-numbing fingers. His wrists were chafed, but that wasn't as annoying as his nose. Which was rubbed raw by the stone wall he was chained up against. And it was damn clever of them to chain him up facing the wall instead of back to the wall, because first of all it was inconvenient as shit, and second of all, it added to the psychological torment of being chained. His neck had long since seized up from craning around to keep watch on the door, and all he could stare at now was a grey. stone. wall. He tried counting the cracks, and then tracing in the duct with his nose, and then just banging his head against the wall. Which distracted him from the constant pain of the hole in his leg. That was still leaking blood. Which was making him more and more tired and weak. Which was making it hard to stand up straight. Which was chafing his wrists. It was a vicious damn circle. And as he closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at that fucking wall, he began to think about how he had gotten into this situation in the first place. And he came to the conclusion, like all the other times he had ended up tied up in some hell-hole, that it was abso-fucking-lutely not his fault.

* * *

So they were off, traipsing through God knows where doing God knows what, fresh off their last mission and gallivanting through space, when they happened upon a lovely little planet. With a lovely little civilization on it. But, it was a lovely little _new_ planet. With a lovely little _new_ civilization. So naturally they had to check it out. And McCoy was of course a little more than leery, because he knew better than most that when they find lovely little new planets with lovely little new civilizations was usually when shit hits the fan. So of course they had to check it out. And their resident pointy-eared sarcastic son-of-a-bitch green-blooded Vulcan looked at his sciency tools and did some sciency things, all the while muttering his little catchphrases like "interesting" and even busting out "fascinating," which he usually reserved for phenomena that gave McCoy minor heart palpitations. And of course Jim had to go bounding over like an eager puppy because_ ooo science and pretty shiny new things and Mr. Spock said fascinating and now I have to know_. So they murmured for a bit, heads together, while McCoy seethed, and then Jim stood back to let Mr. Spock announce his findings, and it turns out that this little planet in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere was having a civil war. Between the Greeks and the Romans.

McCoy shook his head as he followed Jim and Spock to the conference room. For once they were taking his advice and actually thinking before beaming down to the surface with nothing but a smile and a wave. But he realized that, as they took their seats with a shudder, perhaps it wasn't so much his advice, but the memories of past experiences with such historic figures. But then again, they never learn, do they?

It was decided that caution was the word with this planet. A shuttle would be flown into low orbit first to make some clearer observations. If all was clear, the shuttle would proceed into the lower atmosphere to observe the planet and its people, hopefully out of harm's way. The party of two was the pilot, and Ensign Marshall, and an ancient Terran historian who's name escaped McCoy. It's not as if she had much reason to go on many missions. Lieutenant Something. Helena? That's ironically appropriate. Anyway, those two made their way down to the shuttlebay, and McCoy prayed that, for once, nothing would go wrong.

* * *

_Oh fuck me. Fuck me_, McCoy thought as he raced down the corridor. "Doctor McCoy, please report to the bridge. Urgent, McCoy to the bridge." He ignored it and continued his mad dash to the transporter room.

He knew shit would go down, he knew it. He had been waiting, tense, in his office for the inevitable. When Nurse Chapel burst in and told him that the shuttle had been hit with an anti-aircraft missile and crashed and that he was wanted on the bridge, he stood up, grabbed an emergency med kit, and took off. Fuck their procedural bullshit, he was pulling some CMO strings and going down there now. _A fucking anti-aircraft missile. Jesus Christ. I hate those damn Greco-Roman fuckers_. He made it down to the transporter room and vaulted onto the pad. The security guy at the console started to say, "Sir, I am not authorized to beam anyone-" but McCoy cut him off and yelled, "Beam me down to the crash site now!" And as the transporter room disappeared he hoped that they landed somewhere unoccupied.

**Ok, yeah, the transporter thing was a stretch, but I needed something, all right? If you want me to continue I will, otherwise I guess I'll just leave the cliffhanger. And nobody needs that, right? **


	2. Chapter 2

**Apologies. Haven't updated in a while. Sorry to leave y'all hanging. It gets a bit darker here. And angstier. Ye have been warned. **

He opened his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. He saw a mangled and smoking shuttle buried nose-deep in the ground and he rushed over to peer inside. The navigator's console had gone through the front seat. The shuttle was totally empty. And then he saw why. The red emergency light was blinking its little wires off, and that meant that it was more than likely that the shuttle was gonna blow. McCoy started running, and thought to himself that that Lieutenant Helena is more than just a pretty face, as she had known to get away from the shuttle and managed to drag Ensign Marshall along with her. And a pretty fair distance too. McCoy took shelter behind a rounded hill as he heard the boom that signaled the shuttle's demise. His ears ringing, he looked frantically around for the two shuttle's occupants, because he was certain the explosion had alerted at least one of the warring groups.

He didn't have to wait too long, however, as he saw a blue form come stumbling as fast as she could over a hill fireman-carrying a limp red figure. McCoy rushed to meet the two, and then picked up the pace as he saw something that chilled him to the bone; a group of armor-clad soldiers wielding swords and shields marching over the hill. He stopped and pulled communicator as Lieutenant Helena reached him and gently laid down Marshall.

"Three to beam up, now! Have a medical team report to the transporter room!" He closed his eyes as they faded away, but something felt wrong. He felt a shocking pain in his leg, and when he opened his eyes, it wasn't the faces of the medical team, Spock, or Jim looking back. He was looking up at the faces – or rather the face plates – of a group of soldiers.

* * *

And so here he was. Chained up in stone prison. Marshall was dead, they speared him before he could be beamed up. Helena was gone; he hoped gone up to the ship. He had a bullet wound – a fucking bullet wound, anti-aircraft guns, what the hell century was this? – in his leg, an unknown chance of rescue, and he was bored out of his mind. And he was tired, so so tired. Tired of space. Tired of all these aliens intent on killing him. Tired of putting up with Jim and Spock's non-stop antics. And tired of standing here facing a stone wall. The only thing he wanted to see right now was Jim, alive and well and smiling, and a plate of food – real food, not replicated nutritious garbage – and a glass of whiskey and a bed. And in that order would be preferable. Or at least a space heater. Do they make those anymore? This place is damn freezing.

And just as those thoughts crossed his mind he heard a cell door click and his heart jumped into his throat. Was he really being rescued? He thought, _It's about damn time. _And then he thought, _Oh shit_. Because it wasn't Jim bursting in with a phaser to save the day. It was a group of burly, half-dressed guards. And McCoy, though stunned, thought first, _How are they not freezing their balls off,_ and his second thought, after the apparent leader pointed to him and said, "Burlk'sa glubblug," or something like that, was_ Great, I love it when they don't speak English_. Two of the guards unchained him, and he sighed with relief, because damn, his wrists really were chafed. They half-dragged him in front of the leader and threw him to his knees. He looked him over, and he gritted his teeth and glared back defiantly. The leader smirked, muttered something to the guards, and walked out. McCoy had no clue what he said, but was none the less offended. Then he was roughly hauled up and he stood, standing in a circle of about seven buff guards, and he swallowed. He'd been in his fair share of brawls, but 7 to 1 was enough to make even Jim scared. He raised his fists, thought better of it, then swung a damn good punch right in the guy's jaw closest to him. The satisfaction didn't last long, however, as he was grabbed from behind by two other guards. He struggled and kicked, but he was tired and there were seven of them and one of him, and when one of them jammed their foot into his wounded leg, he screamed and would have fallen to the floor had the two men not been holding him. They proceeded to play marbles with him; he was the shooter, but except he wasn't knocking down anything and there were no smaller marbles. They shoved and slapped and kicked and tore what was left of his uniform off, leaving him naked, cold, and defenseless. And he crumpled to the floor, sobbing quietly, terrified suddenly that he would never make it home again, never see Jim again. People and faces began flashing through his mind, his best friends, coworkers, his ex, his family, Jim. It stopped oh his captain's face and he thought_, I'm sorry, I failed, I am so so sorry_. One of the guards picked him up and he whimpered, and they dragged him over to a table bent him over and oh god this wasn't happening, fuck no. The guy he clacked earlier positioned himself behind him and he struggled as best he could but it wasn't working, and he let out a strangled yell as the guard forced his way into him. Oh god the pain and the shame and this can't be happening and tears streamed down his face as the seven guards took turns using him until he mercifully blacked out.

**Oh what an ending. This story is in no way finished, but please please review and I'll have the third part up soon. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Did I say soon? I meant now. **

McCoy opened his eyes. It was dark.

That scared him.

He tried to sit up, but something was holding him back. There was a burning pain in his wrists, and he laid back down and trembled in fear. He could make out a figure in the darkness approaching him. He thought he could make out a familiar pair of pointed ears and sighed with relief as his lids lowered. He was in Sick Bay. He was safe.

But why was he tied down?

Spock's face swam into view. But it was different. Something was wrong. He was smiling. A positively evil smile. And he opened his mouth to speak, but it wasn't Spock's voice. The voice said, "So, our little pet has awakened. About time." And McCoy squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.

But nothing happened.

He tried to remain conscious, as he could hear muffled sounds. Yells, like fighting. He was slipping away. He was awake long enough to sense someone else in the room, and his bonds loosening, and then there was silence once more.

McCoy opened his eyes. It was dark. That scared him.

He tried to sit up, but he was weak and his muscles failed him. He laid down and trembled. He saw a figure in the darkness approaching him. He thought he could make out a familiar pair of pointed ears, and he shut his eyes. He knew what comes next, and he didn't want to see it. He heard Spock's voice say quietly, "Doctor?" sounding for all the world concerned.

McCoy nodded weakly. Spock's face disappeared, and he heard him say, "Jim." McCoy heard someone waking with a gasp on a biobed next to his, and then he heard Jim say, "Spock, what are you doing here? I told you to go get some rest, that's an order." Spock straightened up and said, "As you wish. But Doctor McCoy has woken up." And he strode out.

Jim sprung up and leaned over to look at McCoy's face. "Leonard! Thank god. How are you? Do you need something? I could get you something….." he trailed off with a glare from McCoy and smiled slightly. "I'm sorry. It's just… It's good to have you back." McCoy smiled and laid his head back down on the pillow. "It's good to be back, Jim." Kirk smiled wider, and then straightened up, "You need rest. If you're sure you will be okay, I'll leave you."

McCoy nodded, and the captain started out. "Wait," McCoy called. Jim paused.

"Could you leave the light on?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Aww, poor McCoy. He's been through a lot. Eventually his wall of wit and sarcasm will crumble. Oooops, spoilers. **

**And now for something completely different. Review and enjoy!**

Kirk walked out of sick bay and could almost skip back to his room. Words could not express how relieved, how joyful, how complete he felt to have his oldest and best friend back, to see him open his blue eyes and smile again. He would never tell anyone ever, but the first night he'd had to leave McCoy down on that planet, he broke down and cried. He sobbed like he'd lost a part of himself, tears staining the shoulder of Spock's uniform as he awkwardly tried to comfort him. Damn, that was embarrassing, but he couldn't stop it. It was soul-crushing to not know if Leonard was alive or dead.

Of course, Jim was loathe to have any of his crew laid up in sick bay, but with Leonard it was different. They'd been friends for so long, and he cared so much for him… He was at a loss for words. No one, not even Spock, knew him and was a part of him like Leonard McCoy. It was effortless. And it was kind of scary when he realized it. Jim Kirk loved. He loved his ship. He loved his crew. He loved his friends. And he loved Leonard McCoy.

**Surprise! Oh yeah, didn't see that coming, did you? Sorry if I burst anyone's Spones bubble, but this is Kirk/McCoy, and this fic ain't big enough for the two of them. Please continue to read and review, I promise it's worth it!**


	5. Chapter 5

**New chapter, oh yeah! More McCoy snarkiness! And I see all you, you readers but not reviewers! Kiss and tell, be my guest! **

McCoy laid in sick bay and fumed. How he hated being stuck here, coddled and tired of hearing everyone being so goddamn condescending. But most of all, he hated how all he could do now was think. He was never comfortable with thinking much, particularly about his feelings. But he knew he had to think about this one, or else he was fucked. It might cause some kind of permanent damage. Oh wait, too late. He already couldn't sleep without a light on. He was sure he would be completely fine as long as he never had sex again for the rest of his life. PTSD shit was totally common, and he could totally deal with it, right? And even as he thought, _Yeah, right_, he had resolved to think. And think good, because he didn't know how the hell he managed to survive down there without going completely insane.

* * *

Spock visited later that day. Even though McCoy was still a bit apprehensive of him, he didn't want to show it, so as soon as he stepped into sick bay McCoy called him over and demanded to know the details of his mission gone awry. Spock hesitated, and then obliged, filling him in on the ordeal.

Ensign Marshall was dead. McCoy had thought as much, but it was still sad to hear. Lieutenant Helena had been beamed aboard in time. She had sustained several lacerations, probably from the crash, and a pretty severe puncture wound to her upper thigh, probably from a spear. She was on her way to a full recovery, and she had resumed her duties.

McCoy had been imprisoned for 3 days. 3 days tied up in that pit. He couldn't remember much of it, but Spock told him what had happened up on the ship. Kirk had spent the better part of those 3 days in communication with Starfleet, begging them to let him launch a rescue mission. Starfleet was adamant that no one go back to the surface, and threatened him with increasingly high consequences as time wore on. Spock had spent probably the entire 3 days working with Scotty on the transporters, which had somehow crapped out. McCoy wouldn't put it past the planet to have had some sort of weapon that would affect them. Anyway, at the end of those 3 days, Starfleet had grudgingly allowed Kirk to send a shuttle down as a rescue mission, on one condition; there would be only one attempt at rescue, and a failure would mean that rescue would be abandoned. It took a combined effort between Spock, Uhura, Nurse Chapel, and Sulu to convince Kirk to let Spock lead the rescue mission, and that Kirk would be more of an asset back on the ship. So Spock had been the one to lead the away team into the prison. As it turns out, Spock had also been the one to fight his way through the guards to find McCoy, and carry him back to the shuttle. McCoy thought that had been very brave and valiant, and he told Spock as much. The Vulcan's ears turned a light green at the praise, and McCoy smiled and made him even more uncomfortable by proclaiming that Spock was his "knight in shining armor," and that chivalry wasn't dead at all. Spock suddenly remembered he had some pressing issue to attend to, and he beat a hasty retreat out of sick bay, leaving McCoy smiling and thinking that things between them were back to normal.

His smile faded as he thought back on what Spock had told him, and his whole ordeal came rushing back to him. He remembered. And as he began to shake he began to realize who had truly rescued him down there, and it hadn't been Spock. He swallowed, nervous, and he remembered that the images and thoughts of one man had gotten him through his ordeal. He had been broken down on that planet, and one man was responsible for putting him back together. He had never relied on one person as much as he relied on him now. And it was terrifying.

It was terrifying to know that all of the ties holding you to this universe had been cut, and that one single separate string was all you relied on to keep you here, keep you grounded. And you had to keep that string from breaking, because nothing else mattered.

He needed James T. Kirk. He needed him in a way he'd never needed anyone before.

**And so the truth floweth forth. Oh, it's gonna get interesting. And so much more angst. It's delicious. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Shh. Do you hear that? If you don't frighten the lurkers, maybe they will review! More of McCoy's snark, and some cutesy stuff later on. Constructive criticism is always welcome!**

McCoy laid in bed and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for someone to inevitably show up. At least it was a different ceiling now. He had convinced them to let him move back to his quarters. It had taken a lot, but he was still CMO dammit, and you know, doctor's orders and all that. He was getting tired of the hustle and fucking bustle of sick bay, (and to be honest, it made him a little sad that he couldn't join in) but now, he had to put up with the endless parade of visitors traipsing through his quarters at all hours of the day. Couldn't a man have some time to himself anywhere in the universe?

Admittedly, they weren't all just visitors. Some of them were babysitters. Christine, bless her heart, was a fantastic nurse but babied her patients to no end, which he was usually fine with, but not when that patient was him. She was such a mother hen, sometimes he forgot that he was her boss. And she had, he suspected, set up a chain of babysitters to watch him in her absence. She, of course, was now Doctor M'Benga's right-hand man, and she was too busy to do much more than pop in on him once in a while and fuss for a minute. So she had efficiently set up a babysitting schedule.

And it wasn't just some fresh-faced little Ensign new from the Academy sitting guard over him. It was most of the senior staff on the ship. While he enjoyed being updated on what was happening on the ship, didn't any of these people have anything better to do? And didn't they have any boundaries? They were there at all hours of the day, tip-toeing around and being so damned condescending. He was sick of it.

There was only one face he wanted to see. Unfortunately, that face belonged to the captain of this starship, and Jim Kirk was a busy man. He usually could find time to stop in once or twice during the day, but he couldn't stay and chat. That's why McCoy looked forward to the nights they spent together.

Jim, most nights, sat with McCoy until he drifted off. More often than not, he fell asleep in a chair, hunched over in McCoy's quarters. And, more often than not, he was there to comfort McCoy during one of his nightmares. Ever since his imprisonment, he had often woken himself with his own whimpers and cries as he dreamed. The first few times this had happened he had been embarrassed and ashamed, but Jim had shown him nothing but kindness and patience, and McCoy loved him for that. Nights when Jim couldn't make it, for whatever reasons, he sent Spock, and on a night when Spock couldn't make it, he sent Nurse Chapel. Christine always made sure to give him a hypospray to help him sleep, which he didn't mind. C'mon, everyone needs some nice chemical-induced sleep sometimes. Nights when Spock stayed, he didn't have any dreams, and he figured that the sneaky Vulcan bastard was doing some mind-voodoo on him to help him. He appreciated that, but he felt best when Jim was there. Lately, he'd been seeing more and more of Jim, and less and less of Spock and Christine at night. This actually worried him, as each night he saw him, the circles under his eyes turned a shade darker. He was stretching himself too thin, and McCoy told Jim as much. He was ready to pull some CMO strings, but Jim just shushed him and gave him a look that said, "I'm not going anywhere." And McCoy loved him for that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Don't you feel all warm and fuzzy inside? It's about to get all crazy up in here. But not for long, I hate drama. And, oh yes, REVIEW! I enjoy reading them, even criticism. **

There was a chime ate the door, and he sighed. Scotty had just left, so that must be Uhura reporting for babysitting duty. He grudgingly yelled, "Come in!" towards the door, and he heard someone enter. He picked his head up when no one said anything, and he was surprised to see Lieutenant Helena standing awkwardly in his quarters. "Yes, Lieutenant? How can I help you?"

She asked nervously, "Is it ok if we talk for a little?" McCoy nodded, and she walked to his bed and looked at him oddly. "How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad, I'm recovering. You?"

She smiled slightly and said, "I am recovered." Her face dropped and she looked away and said quietly, "I'm sorry."

McCoy was surprised. "Sorry for what, Lieutenant?"

She still didn't look at him. She said, "It should have been me." McCoy just looked at her until she continued, "I should have been taken, not you. It is my fault Marshall is dead, I couldn't save him, and I couldn't save you! It's all my fault," she repeated, a tear rolling down her cheek.

McCoy sat up and placed his hand on hers and said firmly, "It is not your fault, Helena. It was as much your idea's as anyone's to go down to the planet. You did what anyone would do." She finally looked at him, distraught, and sobbed, "But someone died! And you almost did! I thought you had, we all thought you had. I couldn't save Marshall, and I couldn't save you. Marshall died because of me, and you…. Oh god, you were tortured."

McCoy grabbed her shoulder. "Listen to me. You did what you could. I don't think even the captain would have done differently. And you did save Marshall, even if it was only for a bit. I think what you did was very brave, and I admire you for it."

She smiled tearfully. "You really admire me for it?"

McCoy nodded. "Yes, I do. And don't worry about me. Look at me, I'm fit as a fiddle." She laughed lightly. "I am recovering. I am fine, you are fine. And Marshall knew the risks. He bravely gave his life in his duty. Don't worry about anything but getting better."

She sighed, and cleared her throat. Her eyes squeezed shut and one last tear dropped out, which McCoy wiped away with his hand. "See? All better now."

"Thank you, Doctor." She stood up and smoothed her uniform down, then leaned down and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. "Please get better, for me." And she walked out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for sticking with this story so far. I promise it is far from over. **

**Cue dramatic music…**

Uhura was a little late today, giving McCoy time to ponder his conversation with Lieutenant Helena. The way she blamed herself for the disastrous mission, and had taken it upon herself to rescue them, reminded him too much of Jim. She may just be a historian, but if she ever wanted to advance, she could be fantastic in a command position. He'd recommend it to Jim tonight.

Uhura walked in a short while later, apologizing for being late. McCoy didn't mind; it was refreshing to have some alone time. She settled down in a chair, crossed her legs, and looked him over curiously.

"What?" he asked, a little annoyed at the scrutiny.

She smiled and shook her head, and then said, "You, um, have lipstick on your cheek." McCoy rubbed his face with his hand as Uhura laughed. "It's not funny," he grumbled.

"So, who was the visitor?" she asked, still chuckling.

"Lieutenant Helena came to check on my condition and to talk about the mission."

Uhura's eyes widened, and she asked, "Are you sure you just talked?"

McCoy was surprised. "Yes, I'm sure we just talked! She was upset. She blamed herself for what happened. I consoled her, she kissed me, said get better, and left, end of story. What's your problem?" he huffed as Uhura grinned like the Cheshire cat.

"You don't know?" she asked incredulously.

McCoy shook his head. "No! For fuck's sake, just tell me!"

Uhura laughed again. "Helena has the biggest crush on you! Everyone knows. She's head over heels, darling, and you're the man. You've got yourself and admirer!" McCoy scoffed.

"We're not schoolchildren, she doesn't have a crush on me. I don't know what you're talking about."

Uhura smiled and moved to sit closer to him. "Believe what you will, then. Helen is quite beautiful, wouldn't you say?"

McCoy smirked back, understanding her question. "Yes, she is. Young and beautiful. Too young, but a good girl and a good Lieutenant all the same. Unfortunately, that's all I have to say about her."

Uhura nodded. "I understand. She will too. And I just had to ask, just to be sure. There is someone else." It was McCoy's turned to be surprised. "That's cool, you don't have to tell me. But I will find out, mark my words," she promised with a smile.

Now McCoy looked at her incredulously. "How the hell do you know?"

Uhura looked at him coyly. "A woman always knows. Besides, you just confirmed it. You asked me how I knew, not why I knew."

And McCoy stayed quiet for once.

**I do love writing McCoy banter, but he's got to have a serious conversation once in a while, yes? Poor Helen. I sympathize. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Woohoo! New chapter. I feel like I'm getting writer's block, though I shall press on. I will go down with this ship!**

Uhura yawned and stretched. "Well, it's time for me to go. Goodnight, darling, and someone will be along shortly." She paused halfway out the door to turn back to him, "And don't worry. My lips are sealed." And with a wave, she let the doors close behind her.

McCoy sighed and shook his head. What the hell did she mean, there's someone else? Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he heard a voice whisper a name, but he had learned to ignore that voice at will, so he just got up and walked stiffly to the bathroom to get ready for bed before anyone showed up to fuss about him. If he wasn't back to work in the next three days, he was going to murder someone important.

He had just stepped out of the shower – not that sonic shit, and real, hot, wet, shower, the one "primitive" thing he insisted on doing every day – when he heard the door chime. "Give me a second!" he yelled as he reached for a towel.

"I'm coming in! Close your eyes! I have a surprise for you!" he heard Jim's voice yell back as he strode in. "Wait, where are you?"

"Can it wait one minute!" McCoy silently added, _Damn, the injured get no privacy_.

"No!" Jim shouted. McCoy could almost hear him bouncing up and down. The man had no patience, none. It was almost endearing.

"Fine!" McCoy gave in and quickly wrapped a towel around his himself. He stepped out, eyes shut, to get his surprise. "What is it?" he asked, presenting his hands for whatever it was. When he felt nothing in his hands, he opened his eyes, and, curious, looked around the room for any clue. They came to rest on Jim, who was still standing in front of him. His face was red. It had fallen from its usual bright smile. He still held the surprise behind his back as his eyes roamed over McCoy's body. The doctor's skin was a patchwork of green and blue and sickly purple, deep bruises and new scars that had yet to heal. McCoy sighed softly and reminded him, "Jim? Hello? The surprise?"

The captain snapped out of it. He shook his head, and placed the usual happy smile on his face. It didn't reach his eyes. "Right, yes. Close your eyes again," he demanded, and he reached out and placed a bottle in McCoy's hands. The doctor inspected it.

"Where did you get this? This is moonshine, from Earth. My great-grandpa used to make this… What's the occasion?"

Jim smiled, a real smile, and said, "Someone owed me some favors. As for the occasion…" He handed McCoy two papers, both from Starfleet. McCoy scoffed. Half-jokingly, he said, "Do we even have printers anymore?"

Jim chuckled a little, and McCoy inspected his face, his eyes. There was no sign brooding anymore. "Just read them."

McCoy read the first one. "Confirmation of the recovery of Dr. Leonard McCoy, CMO. Permission to return to duty granted by Starfleet Medical Headquarters." Jim beamed at him as McCoy looked up at him, relief flooding his face. "Thank God. I'm no longer a confirmed cripple. Definitely cause for celebration." He looked around warily. "You didn't plan a surprise party, did you? I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion," he joked as Jim laughed and shook his head. "Read the other one. Then we can celebrate. Just you and I, I promise." McCoy shivered a little, the way Jim said those words, just you and I. He read the other letter. "Permission granted for shore leave. I see what the real cause for celebration is, then," he said, eyes sparkling. But then he paused. He looked over at Jim, busy pouring them each a large dose of liquid medicine, and said, "Wait a second. I'm not sure I'll be able to, er, well, strong enough to last through a shore leave." He hated admitting the 'strong enough' part, but he really was worried about that. His history of shore leave wasn't exactly relaxing.

But Kirk never faltered. "That's fine. We can relax up here. We'll practically have the ship to ourselves. It'll be, um, refreshing!"

McCoy interrupted. "I can't ask you to stay behind with me. You'll have no fun at all. I know you want to go, so go. I'll ask Spock to stay with me if I have to. If I have to. You go enjoy shore leave, and that's doctor's orders," he commanded. While he didn't relish the thought of spending three days with only Spock for company, and he really wanted Jim to stay, he couldn't ask him to play babysitter while everyone else went off to play.

Jim shook his head. "No. I truly want to stay. To tell the truth, I need to get away from everyone. Even on shore leave, I'm still the captain, you know? Sometimes, I just want to be a normal person. So I want to stay. And be normal with you. Ok?"

And McCoy nodded, because he understood and because he wanted Jim to be normal with him. Normal, the two of them together. Alone on the ship, and normal, and safe, and happy.

And McCoy wanted to stay up all night talking to Jim, but the excitements of the day caught up with him and he fell asleep soon after downing his glass, planning on sleeping in very late. He had no nightmares that night. And Jim sat up all night watching the doctor sleep because he could, because he didn't have to go be captain tomorrow. He could be Jim with Leonard. And whenever McCoy smiled in his sleep, Jim smiled back.


End file.
